


The Routine

by LizardWhisperer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Fight, Destiel - Freeform, First Time, M/M, Sex (duh)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 14:54:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8289824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizardWhisperer/pseuds/LizardWhisperer
Summary: Cas was reckless, Dean was angry...and someone has trouble folding his emotional road map.Oh, and socks-on sex is HOT.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is also LW's first time, so be gentle, please.

Dean was pissed.  He balled up his fists, straightened up his bow legs, as best he could, and set his jaw—the hunter looked every bit like Yosemite Sam, raring for a showdown with Bugs. 

The door to the motel room opened and Bugs walked in casually, his trench coat blowing freely in the October evening breeze.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hello, Dean? _Hello, Dean_?  That’s all you got, Cas, after a stunt like that?”

Castiel shrugged his broad shoulders and frowned, tipping his head.  Dean’s body stood rooted to the spot, but his insides were taken aback by how human the angel looked, while dismissively blowing off Dean’s anger and concern.

Tightening his fists enough to whiten his knuckles, Dean considered telling his friend how angry he was, how his stomach had dropped through the floor, how terrified he had been that Castiel’s millennia would end at the hands of an everyday demon. Instead, he barked, “Dammit, Cas!”

The demon had had Castiel pinned down with the only weapon that could kill an angel held against his throat.   Cas’ name had stuck in Dean’s own throat, as he ended the other demon that had lunged at him with one quick thrust of the demon blade.  The hunter knew he was too far to reach the creature crouched on top of Cas in time, but Dean made a break for him, nonetheless.   

“Bastard!”

Now wielding the angel blade high above its head, the demon didn’t pause as Dean shouted, just swung the holy weapon towards Castiel, with an incredible amount of force.  Dean’s blood turned to ice, even as the demon froze, mid-swing, its vessel crackling and flashing with a blinding light, before crumpling to the floor.

“Cas?”

The angel shoved the still-smoking body aside, as he rose to his feet, brushing off his trench coat—a second angel blade in one hand.

Dean stared at Castiel, panting and shaking his head, as his adrenalin level subsided.

When he at last found his voice, it sounded like Dean Winchester was revisiting his puberty.  “Since when do you carry two blades?” he croaked.

Cas glanced at the silver spike near the lifeless hand, “That one’s yours, Dean—the demon lifted it off you as we entered,” Cas crouched to retrieve the blade, “Sam was right, Vascoe was a very old demon, highly skilled.”

“Yeah, well, he must have been pretty damn strong to jump you like that.”

Cas handed the pilfered blade back to Dean, handle-first, but kept his eyes on the dead creature, answering only with a non-descript “Mmm.”

As Dean watched the angel drag the bodies close together, something more than his still-oogie stomach wasn’t sitting right with him.

“Cas, Sam said that Vascoe was known for his speed—he never mentioned anything about super-strength.”

Cas at last looked up from his task to meet Dean’s gaze, “Yes, well, while your brother is adept at research, not all lore is factual,”  Cas’ expression remained neutral, but Dean caught a slight falter in his friend’s eyes, just before he looked away.

“Cas—“

“I’ll take care of the remains, Dean.  You should head back to your motel and clean up, have something to eat.”

Dean was in no mood to be dismissed.  “Listen, _Ca_ —“

But the angel, along with the demon bodies, was gone.

 

“That demon wasn’t stronger than you, was he, Cas?”  Dean had just managed to take his first step since the angel’s arrival and was using his newfound inertia to confront the now closer set of blue eyes.

They stared at each other for more than a beat.

Cas lowered his lids, but quickly returned his intense gaze.

“No, Dean.  But it was fast.”

Dean scoffed, “Fast enough to pin you?” Dean took another step forward, still locked into Cas’ stare.

As Castiel slowly shook his head, Dean gave an even louder scoff, “I don’t believe you, Cas!” Finally Dean’s anger boiled over, as he raised his voice, “Why? Why would you let him get that chance?”

Cas stood his ground, absorbing Dean’s rage like a sponge.  The angel appraised his human friend; Dean’s emotions, his anger, his fear—his hurt—and heaved a deep, unnecessary breath.  The shoulders of his trench coat fell.

Dean caught the change in Cas’ demeanor.  The hunter looked more carefully at the angel and saw something beyond deception there.  Concern and what looked like fear crossed Cas’ features.

“…why?”  

 “He was fast, Dean— _very fast_.  Faster than me.  When he took your blade, I stepped between you—“

Dean shook his head, “I didn’t see.”

“I know.  It was behind your back. That wasn’t the other demon that shoved you—it was me.  I knew you could handle him, but not Vascoe.  I had little chance of catching him, so I let him catch me.”

Dean looked at his feet, his anger and fear having melted into a pool of all around shitty feelings.  Clearing his throat, Dean said, “That was risky, Cas.  And I didn’t know you were just getting close enough to gank him.”

The hunter looked up sharply, as Cas’ powerful hand landed softly on his shoulder. 

“I didn’t have time to let you know.  I’m sorry, Dean, to have caused you worry.”

“Worry? I was scared, Cas.  Not sure I’ve ever been that scared.  Thought I was gonna…”

The hand gave Dean’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.  Dean glanced at it, then looked back at Cas’ face, clearing the glass from his throat. “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

Cas’ mouth twitched, his eyes narrowed slightly, shining.

“I only did it because I thought I might lose _you_ , Dean.”

They stared at each other for more than a beat.

Dean was aware of Cas’ hand moving, but it felt like the angel’s hand had always been right where it landed, warm and steady, on the side of his neck.  And  Cas’ other hand followed, resting on the opposite side before both slid upward to cup the hunter’s face.

Cas’ own face drew closer, his ridiculously blue eyes, his shadowed chin, his lips--

The trance broke suddenly, as Dean Winchester came to his senses, bracing an unyielding palm against Castiel’s chest.

Dropping his hands from Dean’s face, as he drew back, the angel was suddenly all business.

“My apologies, Dean,” he gruffed, clearing his throat with a cough.

Dean stood stunned, his face now cold, feeling devoid of the recent affection, no matter how disarming it had been.   He watched his friend scramble to don a mask, though up until that moment, he had never known it had been a mask at all.  Castiel closed up before him, like an old-fashioned road map, but as he did, Dean was finally seeing the mis-folds, the places where Cas stored these…feelings.  Funny, thought Dean, that he had never noticed them before—they were exactly the same as his.

Dean took one deliberate step into Cas’ space, his hand still raised, once again landing against the angel’s solid chest, this time wrapping tightly around Cas’ striped tie. The hand tugged.  It was Cas’ turn to be stunned. 

“Dea--?”  Was all Cas managed before his lips slammed against Dean’s, both men holding stock still at first, then slowly moving their faces against each other’s—lips, then teeth, then noses—pressing , rubbing, colliding.  Someone moaned and then there were hands, touching hair, necks, shoulders, arms—each other.

Dean’s hands found their way under Cas’ coat, then under his suit jacket, easing them both over and off the angel’s shoulders and letting them slide down his arms to the dingy carpet.  The kiss went on as Dean returned to his grip on the tie, while Cas’ hands found a new spot—Dean’s ass.  As Cas pressed his fingers into that firm wonderland, both men now moaned and Dean chuckled, in his head.  This should have been awkward, hesitant, frightening—but instead it was proving to be a great big ball of something else.  It was exciting, sensational— _hot_.  Holy shit, but Dean was hard.  Neither man had backed out the kiss, though it was getting harder to maintain contact the more they groped and attempted to disrobe.  Dean kicked his shoes off and toed Cas’, encouraging him to follow suit.  Finally relinquishing his kung-fu grip, Dean undid Cas’ tie and slid the strip of silk through its collar slowly, as Cas released the hottest sound Dean had ever heard.  He made short work of buttons and soon the Angel of Thursday stood bare-chested, working Dean’s tshirt up his torso.  As their over-heated skin finally met, Dean conceded the kissing contest, catching his breath.

“We (kiss-kiss) should take this (kiss-kiss)to the bed (kiss).”

As they shuffled together towards the double bed, Dean went for Cas’ belt, opening his pants as both men sank onto the ugly motel bedspread.  Brown and orange—why are they always brown and orange?

Again, Dean let his head chuckle, allowing himself to consider how surreal this all was—and yet how ordinary.  Sex in another crappy motel room.  Sex—sex with Castiel—how could this be anything near ordinary?  Lost in thought, Dean hadn’t noticed that Cas was just as eager as himself until he felt the angel’s hand in his pants.  As Cas' fingers found Dean’s cock, the hunter threw back his head and gasped the angel’s name—his full name.  Apparently this was Heaven-ese for green light, because Cas had Dean’s jeans down to his knees faster than he could teleport, massaging Dean’s rock-hard member through his boxers and frantically sucking the skin along Dean’s stubbled jawline, creeping his way back to his lips.  Dean dove back into another marathon kiss, while pantsing his angel unceremoniously.  They both wriggled and kicked out of their respective leggings, climbing higher on the bed, attached at their lips.

As Dean made ungodly sounds under Cas’ ministrations, he realized he was being a selfish lover and reached into Cas’ white boxers, wrapping both hunter hands around the impressive length of his cock.

The angel immediately bucked into Dean’s grip, growling— _growling_ his pleasure.  He finally spoke, his normally gravelly voice absolutely wrecked with indulgence.  “Dean, oh Dean.  You…are…Heaven.”

As they both slipped out of their remaining clothes (when Cas kept his socks on, Dean believed this was the hottest thing since nuclear fusion), Cas climbed on top of Dean (ok, _that_ was the hottest thing), and they locked eyes.  All kissed out, Cas and Dean were still staring at each other, just like the first time they met,  holding to the familiar, the intimate—the routine, when they none-too-routinely came all over their bellies.  Cas graced them a quick clean-up and though the angel didn’t need to rest, he curled up with his exhausted hunter and kissed and petted him to sleep.  The last thing Dean heard as he drifted off was, “Sorry I scared you, Dean. “

As he awoke the next morning, still wrapped in Cas’ arms, the first thing Dean heard was “Good morning, Sam.”

 

 

 


End file.
